


Folie a Deux

by zoemathemata



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Mental Institutions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-13
Updated: 2011-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:18:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoemathemata/pseuds/zoemathemata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> At Lofty Pines Mental Institution, Jensen and Jared try to work through their delusions of being Dean and Sam Winchester.<br/>-Or-<br/>At Lofty Pines Mental Institution, Dean and Sam Winchester are being manipulated into thinking they’re Jensen and Jared</p>
            </blockquote>





	Folie a Deux

_“I dreamed I was a butterfly, flitting around in the sky; then I awoke. Now I wonder: Am I a man who dreamt of being a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming that I am a man?” - Chuang Tzu_   


Unbeta'd

  


If he had to pick which he hated more, group therapy or one on one sessions, he’d pick one on one. He dislikes group therapy too, no doubt about it. There’s something painfully awkward and not at all helpful about someone trying to get you to air out all your problems in front of a bunch of strangers. But, at least at group, there’s always the chance that no one will notice you that day. And then you can just sit there and pretend to be interested while someone else spills shamefully honest details about their most intimate secrets while really you’re just keeping up a litany in your head of _don’t pick me, don’t pick me, don’t pick me_.

Usually, it works out pretty well in group too, because there’s always a handful of ‘sharers,’ the people who are just _dying_ to tell you ever miniscule detail about their life.

But not in one-on-one. In personal sessions, it’s just him and Dr. Reid. She runs group too, but there’s something more… pointed about her in one-on-one. All her attention is focused on you.

She’s got a bunch of degrees. Or so he assumes. She doesn’t hang any on the wall. She doesn’t sit behind a desk, or make him recline back on a sofa. She has two giant bean bag chairs and she doesn’t mind if you stand up and tower over her while she reclines. She doesn’t mind if you pace. She doesn’t mind if you kick the bean bag chair, so long as it’s not the one she’s in.

She says _whatever makes you comfortable, Jensen._

She really looks like she means it too.

She has a clipboard and she takes notes. Shorthand notes that he can’t read. He’s tried. Once she had to leave one-on-one in the middle because Jacob had managed to get into the med closet and was threatening to shoot himself up with narcotics unless they let him call his mother. Dr. Reid left her clipboard on the floor when she raced out to talk Jacob out of the closet and Jensen had tried to read what she wrote about him but it was all squiggles and doodles that made no sense.

She came back five minutes later with a swelling lip from were Jacob had apparently punched her and when she saw Jensen staring at the clipboard she asked if he wanted to know what it said.

But he didn’t.

Not really.

He knows he’s fucked up.

Really fucked up.

Which is why even though he hates group, he hates one-on-one and he hates the meds that dull everything out and make the edges gray and fuzzy, he sticks with it. Because there has to be more than this.

She tells him there’s more than this.

It’s a one-on-one session today. Two group sessions a week and three personal sessions. And then there are two days off, which really, are his favorite because then he can just hang out, go to the rec room or the library or whatever and not worry about answering questions.

Or not answering questions.

He picks at the soft cotton of his pants and shifts in the bean bag chair which makes a squishy sound. He’s glad they let him wear jeans and a t-shirt instead of some dumb pajama outfit.

Lofty Pines bills itself as a _Progressive Center for the Mental Imbalanced_.

Which is a really nice way of saying _Insane Asylum_.

But no matter how much you dress it up, there’s no mistaking what it is.

Secluded up in the Colorado mountains, they say the fresh air is instrumental in assisting the guests in rebalancing their minds.

Translation: we’re keeping the crazy folks far away so as not to bother the not-crazy folks.

While everyone can wear jeans or khakis instead of scrubs, they are generic, hospital issued clothes; all identical and somewhat industrial.

Dr. Reid doesn’t wear a doctor’s coat. She wears dark slacks and sweater sets with sensible pumps on her feet. Her hair is always in a perfect bob, the dark ends just barely curling under her chin.

It’s hard to tell how old she is. Somedays she looks older than others.

It’s hard for him to remember time. He gets events confused. Days, weeks, months. He’s not sure how long he’s been at Lofty Pines. He’s afraid to ask.

“Anything in particular you want to discuss today, Jensen?” she asks. Her eyebrows go up expectantly, giving her a wide eyed look.

He shrugs. “Not really.”

It’s his standard answer. Sure there’s stuff he wants to talk about but he doesn’t want to be the one to bring it up. And then there’s other stuff he knows he should talk about but never wants to.

“How’s the new dosage working out?”

He shrugs again. “S’okay.”

“Any side effects? Vivid dreams, tremors, fogginess?”

“Little bit with the dreams.”

“Really vivid, detailed?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“That’s to be expected. Anything else?”

“Thirsty a lot.”

“Unfortunately, it’s another common side effect. But if you can live with both of them, it’s a good combo you’re on so I’d like to stick with it.”

“Um. Okay.”

She smiles. “Good. That’s good. We’ll stick with it for a few weeks and see how it goes. Okay?”

“Sure.” It’s not like he has a choice.

“If there’s nothing in particular you’d like to talk about, I was hoping we could discuss Dean Winchester.”

He stiffens immediately. He doesn’t want to talk about Dean.

“Why? I’m better now.”

“I know,” she says easily. “But I think we need to figure out why you picked Dean. What is it about him that makes you want to be him?”

He starts cracking his knuckles. He’s waiting for the day she tells him not to do it, that it’s bad for his joints, but she never says anything.

“I don’t think I’m him anymore. I know who I am. I’m me. I’m Jensen.”

“And I’m glad for it. But it’s important that you understand why you latched on to him. If we can take it apart and uncover it all, you won’t need him anymore. Remember what I said about therapy at the start?”

He shifts in his seat. “Yeah.” She had said it was like a rain barrel, and while things looked clean on the surface there was always sludge and grime that you had to stir up, clean out, and then you’d really have clean water instead of just the illusion of clean water.

“So, tell me. Tell me about Dean Winchester.”

***

They talk about Dean. About his backstory. This elaborate backstory that seemed to live in Jensen’s mind.

And Dr. Reid systematically helps him poke holes in it all. She isn’t mean about it, or judgmental. She simply presents a set of questions and when he thinks about it he realizes that the entire thing is pretty far-fetched.

“So, after Mary Winchester was killed, Dean’s father took two young boys, babies essentially, on the road. Hunting things.”

“Yeah,” Jensen says with a nod.

“How did he hunt things if he had children with him? Who looked after the children while he was gone?”

“Um, there was Bobby and Pastor Jim.”

“But if they were stationary and John travelled around, how did that work?”

“Um, I guess it wouldn’t?” It’s hard not to make things a question all the time. “I mean, it wouldn’t.”

“What about money? Health care?”

“There’d be fake papers for that. Credit cards and such.”

Dr. Reid nods. “How did John Winchester learn all these things?”

“I guess he didn’t,” replies Jensen. “I mean, I guess it wouldn’t be that easy. It just wouldn’t work out.”

“Why?”

“We’d be growing and would need clothes and stuff. And school. We’d have to go to school. Not we, I mean,” he says quickly. “Dean and Sam would have to go to school and when they were little, it’d be too hard for them to keep moving around.”

It goes on like that for an hour and he’s shaking his head by the time they’re done. It makes so much _sense_ coming from Dr. Reid. He doesn’t know why he always dreads one-on-one so much. Things are so clear while he’s with her. She pays attention to him and listens to everything he says.

“I’m really proud of you, Jensen,” she says toward the end of the hour.

“Why?”

“I know it’s hard. But you show up every time for session and you do the work. Recovery is a process and it takes effort.”

“Well, I take my meds.”

“The meds are only part of it. They’re a tool to get you to a place where you can make your own connections. But every time you show up, you’re making a commitment to getting better. It’s hard and it’s messy sometimes, but you keep showing up. You keep doing the work. And I’m proud of you.”

He smiles shyly under her praise, stealing a glance from underneath his lashes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at group. Think about sharing sometime with them. I know you don’t like it but I think it would be another big step.”

He squirms in his seat at the thought of group again and she grins.

“I know you hate it, but trust me, it’s part of the process.”

He gives her another shy smile in return as he tries to work his way out of the beanbag chair.

“Have a good day,” she says brightly as he leaves.

He shuts the door to her office behind him and starts back down the hallway to his room. He feels a little wrung out from therapy, but it’s a good wrung out. A clean wrung out.

His good mood lasts for all of two minutes before hands grab him and haul him into a supply closet.

He tries to yell but a hand is clapped over his mouth and he’s pushed roughly up against a shelving of blankets. The overhead lighting is dim but he can make out who’s got him. As soon as he makes eye contact, the hand drops.

“What the hell?” Jensen hisses. “You can’t just grab people and stuff them in a closet!”

“I had to talk to you alone. Are you okay?”

“I was until you manhandled me in here, what the fuck is wrong with you, Jared.”

Jared shakes his head, his mop of hair swaying back and forth as he does. “Don’t do this, Dean, don’t do this to me. It’s Sam.”

Jensen swallows hard. He has to stay calm. “No, it’s not. And don’t call me Dean. My name is Jensen.”

Jared grabs Jensen’s shoulders and holds on. “Dean, seriously man, you can’t do this to me. Tell me you haven’t been taking those pills.”

“Of course I’ve been taking my medication. It’s why we’re here. To get better.”

“No, _Dean_ ,” Jared says, putting an extra emphasis on the name. “We’re here because they won’t let us leave.”

“That’s ridiculous, Jared.”

“It’s Sam,” he hisses. “Jesus, I was only gone for two days. What did they do to you while I was gone?”

Jensen struggles against him. “Nothing. ‘They’ haven’t been doing anything to me. ‘They’ are doctors, Jared. And we’re sick. We’re here to get better. _I’m_ getting better. And if you tried harder, then they wouldn’t have to put you in lockdown so often.”

Jared’s hands open and close reflexively on his shoulders. “Dean, you have to believe me. You have to.” His hands tighten painfully. “We’re all we’ve got in here and if you… if you don’t… we have to get out of here, Dean. I don’t know who’s behind this or what the fuck, but we gotta get out of here.”

“Are you listening to yourself? There’s no one behind anything. We’re in an insane asylum. Because we’re insane!” Jensen pauses willing his voice lower. “But we can get better and when we do, we can go home.”

“Home? Home is the Impala and Bobby’s and crappy hotel rooms. It’s shitty but it’s ours and we’re never going to see it again if you don’t stop drinking the fucking kool-aid!”

“Is that what you want? Jesus, Jared, don’t you want to get better?”

“I’m not sick! You’re not sick! At least you weren’t until you started taking the meds they’ve been shoving at us. And my name is _Sam!_.”

Jensen shakes his head. “I’m doing a lot better now and I’m not… I’m getting better and I’m going to go home.”

“Really? Where’s home? Tell me all about it.”

Jensen opens his mouth to speak and nothing comes out. He thinks _home_ and there’s nothing in his brain but a vague, blank spot. He tries not to panic. Dr. Reid warned him that coming down from the delusion would be hard, that there would be setbacks, moments where things could get fuzzy again, but he just had to stay focused.

“I’m not having this discussion with you,” Jensen finally says.

“You can’t remember anything, can you? You don’t have a life outside of here as Jensen. You’re only Jensen in here,” Jared says knowingly. “That’s because you’re not him. You’re Dean.”

“Dean Winchester is some fucked up figment of my imagination. Hunting monsters? Living in hotel rooms? Seriously? It’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Dean,” Jared says, stepping in closer, right into Jensen’s space. The heat coming off him is incredible. Jensen turns his eyes away from Jared, looking over his shoulder at the stack of bed linens. Jared leans his face even closer, a hairs breadth away from his. “Look at me.”

“You’re crazy, man,” Jensen breathes.

“According to you, we’re both crazy,” Jared counters. “But I need you to believe me. I need you.”

He’s got Jensen cornered now, in the closet, his large body pressing up against Jensen’s.

“Stop it,” Jensen says quietly, without any force behind his voice. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” Jared counters, tilting his hips slightly into Jensen’s, pressing into him.

“Because we’re-” _brothers_.

He almost said it. But it’s not true. It’s part of the delusion. He sucks in a breath as Jared pushes him against the wall and cants his hips into his pelvis. He can feel Jared’s erection through the industrial denim of their jeans. Jared’s hands curling around Jensen’s biceps, leaving fingermarks in his flesh. Jared’s breathing hotly in his ear, his tongue darting out and nipping at Jensen’s ear and the thrill of desire, the spark of _need_ and _want_ mixed in with _can’t_ and _wrong_ is heady and arousing. It’s illicit and forbidden and he _wants it so much_.

“You can’t have it both ways,” Jared says in his ear, rocking his hips against Jensen. He licks at Jensen’s lips and pulls away when Jensen makes a miniscule motion to lean into the kiss. “You can’t say you’re not Dean and then say you can’t because it’s wrong. If you’re not Dean-”

“I’m not,” Jensen breathes. His hands clutch at Jared’s shirt, fisting in the cheap fabric, contorting it out of shape.

“Then there’s nothing stopping you, is there?” Jared whispers, tilting his head down and mouthing at the stubble on Jensen’s jaw.

He starts working his way down Jensen’s throat and Jensen drops his head back against the wall with a loud ‘thunk.’ He thunks it against the wall again as Jared slides down his body and fumbles with the button of the stiff denim, finally pushing it through the hole then drags the zipper down. Jared tugs at Jensen’s jeans, slips them off his hips, taking his boxers down with them until his cock springs free, already hard and hot.

Jensen can’t look down, keeping his head tilted back and his eyes shut. It’s so _wrong_ and he can never say no. He doesn’t want to say no. His hands automatically fist in Jared’s silky hair, so soft and too long and he thinks, _Time for a haircut, Sasquatch_ and then Jared’s mouth is on his dick, hot and wet and he stops thinking anything but _fuck, yes, I need_.

The sounds Jared makes as he sucks on Jensen’s cock are fucking _perfect_. Wet, sloppy, slurping sounds interspersed with gasps of need and grunts of want. His hands wrap around Jensen’s ass, pulling Jensen closer and he digs his fingertips into the flesh but it’s not enough.

“Harder,” Jensen says lowly and Jared grips him tighter, digging his fingernails in roughly. He tongues at the tip of Jensen’s cock and then takes it all in, swallowing around it before pulling back off and doing it all over again. Jensen feels the whine build at the back of his throat, feels the pressure build at the base of his spine and before he knows it he’s curling over Jared and coming hard with a gasp.

“Sam.”

***

If he can beat the shrinks at their own game, Sam thinks, he can get out of here. He can get both of them out of here.

Palming his meds is simple enough and he figures he’s got enough stored up to get some useful things in trade.

What worries him the most is Dean.

Sam was in lockdown for two days after he knocked out one of the orderlies and nearly busted out of his floor. In those two days, Dean’s taking his meds and spouting off about being Jensen again.

It makes things harder, but not impossible. Once Sam can get them out of here, he can focus on getting Dean off the meds and they can lay low for a while.

If he could get to a phone he could call Bobby or Rufus. Unfortunately, phone privileges are for ‘compliant’ patients.

He’ll just have to be compliant.

Dr. Reid looks up as he’s shown into her office for his one-on-one session.

“Jared,” she says brightly. “It’s good to see you.”

“Dr. Reid,” he says with a polite smile, slouching down low into the bean bag chair.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Good.”

“Meds giving you any problems?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

She makes a note on her pad. “No sluggishness or fogginess?”

“Nope.”

She makes another note. “Okay, great. Anything on your mind today?”

He shrugs.

“Okay. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to talk about what got you upgraded to security 4 the other day.”

“You mean lockdown.”

She bobs her head back and forth. “I try to avoid that term but yes, lockdown.”

He shrugs. “I guess I got upset. Confused. I thought I wanted to leave.”

“And now?”

He smiles at her. “I can see why I need to stay here. I’m sick.”

She nods slowly and puts her pen down. “Jared, one of the cornerstones of therapy is honesty. You need to know that this is a safe place. You can say anything here and you won’t be judged or persecuted.”

He nods vaguely. “Sure.”

“Two days ago you were so… agitated that you broke a guard’s arm trying to get out of the building and now you tell me that you understand you’re sick.”

“Well, I had a lot of time to think while I was in lockdown.”

“Mmhmm,” she says noncommittally. “It wouldn’t be the norm for a person in your position to do a full turn around. Sure, it can happen, but it is rare.”

“Well, like I said, I had a lot of time to think.”

She nods again. “Okay. I was hoping to talk a bit today about Sam Winchester.”

“Sure.”

“Does talking about him bother you?”

“Nope. Why would it?”

“Well, some patients find it difficult to talk freely about their delusions.”

“If you think it’s important for my recovery, let’s do it.”

***

Sam’s not sure if Reid’s a demon or a shapeshifter or skin walker or what, but she’s good.

She systematically tries to break down everything he’s ever believed in. She’s like a pit bull, pulling at all the frayed edges of his life, trying to unravel the story.

But you can’t unravel the truth.

He says all the right things. Agrees with her when she points out something that seems strange or bizarre. Smiles when she smiles. Mirrors her body language and speech patterns back to her. He paid attention in Psych 101 at Stanford, and a lifetime of hunting has helped him become excellent at giving people what they want.

“One of the things I find most interesting is the sudden shift in Sam’s life toward a Judeo-Christian mythology,” Dr. Reid says. “For a while, other than of course the clear reference to the Jesus myth with Sam and Dean’s parents being named John and Mary, it seems like there is no prevalent faith and then suddenly, there is heaven and hell, demons and angels, but God is still not present.”

Sam’s not sure what the question is in there so he shrugs. “Well, I think we all struggle with the concept of religion.”

“And then there was…” she looks down at her notes. “Chuck. The prophet Chuck.”

He shrugs again, not sure if that was a question. “Yeah.”

“So, in this world, the closest voice you have to god is an alcoholic writer and somehow he sees Sam and Dean’s life, writes it down and passes it off as fiction.”

Sam squirms. When she says it like that, it does sound completely ridiculous. Even he and Dean didn’t believe it at first.

“Yeah,” he says with a huff. “Pretty crazy.”

She gives him a rueful smile. “Well, we try to avoid that word around here. Bad for morale.” She taps her pen on the pad. “And Ruby, she was a demon?”

He clenches his teeth at Ruby’s name and doesn’t say anything. She’s just fishing. Trying to get him riled up.

“How do you reconcile the part of the delusion where Sam trusts Ruby?”

“What?” He pushes his hair out of his eyes. She doesn’t know. She wasn’t there.

“In this world you and Jensen have created, this shared delusion, you’re brothers above all else. The sense of family at the beginning is epic. Two brothers on a search for their father, taking up the mantle of hunting the creature that killed their mother. Family is the heart.”

Sam feels his heart start to race and he wills himself to remain calm, trying to let her words, her judgement flow over him, unheeded and unnoticed.

“Then after the tragic death of the father figure, John,” she continues, “we transition to this ultimate sacrifice on the part of Dean where he sells his soul, preferring to go to hell rather than live without his brother. The natural conclusion of that would have been for Sam to rescue Dean from Hell. But he doesn’t. A third party intervenes, and this third party, this…” she checks her notes. “Castiel.”

Of course he couldn’t save Dean from Hell, it was _Hell_ and Dean made him promise, promise not to do anything. And even when he tried, he couldn’t because no one would talk to him. It wasn’t like he just sat back and did nothing.

“So Castiel now becomes part of the narrative and appears to further upset the brotherly dynamic. We have Dean with the classic angel on his shoulder, whereas Sam has the demon, Ruby, whispering in his ear.”

It wasn’t like that, he wants to say. Ruby wasn’t whispering in his ear. He wasn’t an automaton. Sure now, in hindsight he can see how it would look that way, but in the middle of it, he was trying to stop the apocalypse. The was trying to do everything he could, whatever it took to stop Lucifer, _the devil_ from rising.

“This culminates with this horrible betrayal where Sam choses to believe Ruby, the demon, one of the creatures he’s sworn to fight, he’s pledged his life to fight against, over his own brother.”

And god, he can _never_ take that back, he can’t. But he’s trying to make it up to Dean. He’ll spend the rest of his life trying to make it up if he has to.

“Up until the last moment, Dean is trying to stop Sam, but is unsuccessful. Then Sam, releases Lucifer, starting the apocalypse on earth. So not only do we have the betrayal of his brother, Dean, but also we have this complex martyr concept of Sam through his somewhat bumbling misguided intentions starting the end of the world.”

“Jesus Christ, it wasn’t like that!” Sam finally barks, pushing his large frame to his feet. “You’ve no idea, _no idea_ what it’s like. It’s all the time. It’s hunting and killing and you can’t get away even if you try to get out, this life just sucks you back in and I thought I was doing the right thing!”

He’s towering over her and she’s blinking up at him and he realizes what he just said, how he said it.

“Sam,” she says, the barest hint of disappointment on her face. She gives a little sigh. “I suppose you’re just learning to tell me what I want to hear, is that it?”

Oh, fuck. He turns hard on his heel, punches the wall and she flinches.

“Pretending to get better is only deluding yourself, Jared.”

“My name is Sam.”

“You haven’t even been taking your meds, have you?”

He glares at her.

“Jared,” she begins, “I can’t help you if you don’t want to help yourself.”

“I’m not Jared. I’m Sam. Sam -”

“Winchester. I know. But we’ve talked about this. You agree the entire story is… convoluted, yes?”

“It’s not a story.”

She purses her lips as he stares down at her. “You’re a smart guy, Jared. You can see all the elements of classical mythology playing out in this story. Starting from Sam’s infancy where he was somehow infused with special powers. It’s a classic tale from Greek mythology. Perseus, Hercules, Helen… All the famous mythology figures, all the ones that had special powers were all somehow descendant from the gods. Partially graced, yet essentially mortal.”

“It’s not a story, it’s our lives.”

“It’s a classic persecution delusion interspersed with elements of Christianity. How is it possible that in all the world, all these things revolve around Sam and Dean and only Sam and Dean?”

“Things were put into place. The angels-”

“Orchestrated your birth?”

He swallows hard.

“You say there are other hunters in this world,” she continues.

“Yes,” Sam grits out.

“Then where are they when the apocalypse is happening? Why is it they only show up sporadically?”

“Hunting is a solitary business. It doesn’t pay to make friends.”

She keeps chipping away at him. “How do you keep the supernatural events from leaking out to the media? Why aren’t we seeing survivor tales from the people you’ve helped?”

“Because you wouldn’t believe them!” he shouts. “Just like you don’t believe me!”

It’s a face off of sorts for a few seconds - him staring down at her, using his height and her being unperturbed by the show of dominance. She blinks up at him a few times.

“Jared,” she says and he gets the feeling she’s deliberately using his name. “You say that I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t.”

She nods in acquiescence. “And you’re upset by that. But, can you alternatively see my point of view? The same way you say I don’t believe you, you don’t believe me.”

“Why the fuck would I believe you?”

“I could ask you the same question,” she counters. “Although I would do it without the vulgarity.”

“I’m telling the truth,” he declares hotly.

“So am I. Are we at an impasse?”

He huffs in frustration and annoyance. “You could be a demon!”

“How can I prove I’m not?”

“ _Christo._ ”

Nothing happens. She raises an eyebrow at him. “Was that a test? Do I pass?”

“It doesn’t mean you aren’t something else,” he says with grim determination.

She puts her pen down. “What can I do to prove I’m not?”

He eyes her suspiciously. “What?”

“I want to prove I’m not anything other than what I say I am. A doctor. How can I prove it to you?”

“I’d need silver.”

“Alright. How much silver? What kind?”

His eyes narrow. “Not every creature responds to silver.” If she’s willing to give him silver, she likely is something that doesn’t react. Besides, he’d have no way of knowing if what she gave him was pure silver or some kind of amalgamate. “You could be a ghoul or a succubus.”

She picks her pen up and makes another note before looking up at him again. She stares at him for a long while.

“What if allowed you the opportunity to make a phone call?”

He freezes. A phone call. Jesus, they could call Bobby to come bust them out, or at least, give them a hand. Suspicion tickles his brain.

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“You want to prove to me your life is real. I want to prove to you it’s not. If you could call someone from your life, a _verifiable_ someone, that would go a long way toward proving your claim.”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter what I do or don’t do, you’re never going to buy it. Besides, it doesn’t matter what you think. It’s real. And every second I’m in here, _we’re_ in here, people could be dying.”

“Okay, we’re going around in circles here and I think we’re both getting a little frustrated. You’re a logical guy and you’re intelligent. I really want you to think about your life as Sam; the chronology, the events. Ask yourself: do these events make logical, rational sense, on a day to day basis.” At his look she holds up a hand, forestalling him. “I don’t mean the demon hunting and monster killing. I mean an every day basis. Laundry. Banking. Paying bills. Headlines in newspapers. Law enforcement. Even… medical issues. Broken limbs, jaws. Bruises, scars. Think about what a life of hunting would do to your body and ask yourself if your physical state is consistent with that lifestyle.” She pauses as if she’s waiting for her words to sink in. “And if the answer is yes, it makes complete sense, then I want you to come in here at your next session and tell me how and why it makes sense.

“But if the answer is no, then instead of getting upset or aggressive, I want you to think about why the answer is no. Can you do that?”

He shrugs dismissively. “Fine.”

He can almost feel the sigh she holds back. “Okay.”

He moves toward the door, palm on the handle.

“One more thing I’d like you to think about,” she says.

He grips the handle tight. “Yes?”

“Is Sam Winchester’s life a happy one?”

He pulls the door open hard and slams it shut on his way out.

***

Jensen doesn’t want to talk about what happened in the supply closet and he wishes he could hide out in his room, away from Jared, but the nurses make you come out and hang out in the common room, even if you just want to read a book or something solitary.

They say no one ever got better holed up in their room.

He bets no one got better trying to put together puzzles that are missing pieces either. It’s too freakishly close to a metaphor for all their brains.

He fiddles with one of the blue sky pieces, methodically trying it in a bunch of gaps, rotating it around, even when he knows it won’t fit, because it’s part of his systematic way of doing puzzles. As much as it’s mechanical and rote, he gets a strange satisfaction and dull sense of calm from picking up a piece, trying it all four ways against one space, then moving on and trying it against another space. It should be maddening in it’s repetition, but he likes it.

He sees Jared’s large shadow hulking over him before Jared himself steps into the corner of his eyesight. Without a word, Jared sits down, picks up a piece and slots it into place.

Motherfucker.

Jensen raises his eyes slightly to watch Jared as he quietly picks up another piece. Jensen rotates the piece in his own fingertips as Jared leans over the table and snaps his piece into another perfect fittingly place.

As much as he doesn’t want to see Jared, wants to avoid him, he longs to be near him as well. There’s something familiar and comforting about being around Jared. Jensen feels sorry for all the other SOB’s in this den of lunacy that are all sort of bobbing about alone.

He’s always got Jared.

Even when the fucker is finding another piece and putting it into place. Goddamn.

“You gotta stop taking the meds,” Jared says casually, his voice low so the nurses won’t hear.

“Jare…”

“Dean. Seriously. Just… it’s…” Jared pauses, frustrated and pushes his long hair out of his face. “That Dr. Reid… She twists things up and makes it all…” he motions his hands around his head.

“Crazy?” Jensen offers and Jared thins his lips at him.

“Dude, not helping.”

Jensen stifles a smile. “Sorry, man. Gallows humor.”

“I’m not crazy.”

“Yeah, I hear that’s what all the crazy people say.”

Again, Jared levels him with a look, his hazel eyes boring holes into Jensen. “Just… I need you with me on this, Dean.”

Jensen doesn’t look up as he goes through his pattern of trying each piece of the puzzle against the empty spaces. He’s not having any luck. “I don’t know,” he says with a shrug. “Maybe it doesn’t fit.”

Jared snatches the piece from his finger and unerringly finds its home and it locks into place.

“It fits.”

***

Dr. Zagorodniuk makes them call him Zig.

He gets a real kick out of saying, “You know, like Zig _Zag_.”

Group sessions are the _worst_.

Steve [agoraphobia and chiraptophobia] won’t sit next to Lexie [obsessive-compulsive with germophobic and numeric tendencies] because the way she counts certain words annoys him. Dylan [manorexic] and Mallory [anorexic] have to be kept separated ever since the nurses found out they are egging each other on in a battle to see who can lose more weight but also sharing tips about it. Jodie, the bulimic, feels left out but at least no one in group cared if she smoked, so that makes her feel better. Tom’s paranoid and convinced aliens are coming back to get him to take the rest of his brain out and replace it with their biological substitute. He’s tried three times to dig out what he swears is a tracking device in his left calf. Twice he’s tried to dig it out from the right one. Phoebe is bad at taking her meds and a cutter. She’s scarily good at finding new things to turn into sharp instruments. Most notably, the casing of a pen. Jensen heard through the grapevine that she went off her meds once and tried to carve up one of the doctors. Since then she’s patted down twice a day and her room gets searched at random intervals.

Jared and Jensen are both classified as nihilistic delusionals with paranoid tendencies. Jared has the added bonus of Grandiose Delusions because of his special telekinesis powers, notably demon banishing and short lived visions. Together they have foile a deux, although Dr. Reid likes to call it a _shared psychotic disorder_.

Zig wants them all to get along and ‘share.’

He’d have them sing Kumbaya if he didn’t think it would set off Jensen and Jared’s religious delusions.

Not that either of them particularly care. Really, what the fuck does Kumbaya mean, anyway?

The beginning of group is always tense and awkward. Of course, the ending is tense and awkward too, but it’s worse at the start.

“Hey gang,” says Zig, clapping his hands together once. He always calls them ‘gang.’ Like they’re a weird club or something.

Zig’s brown eyes are bright and happy behind his Buddy Holly glasses. “We’ve got a newbie today, so I’m going to bring her in and I want you all to make her feel welcome.”

Silence echoes in the circle of chairs as Zig looks at each one of them expectantly.

“Okay!” he says brightly, getting up from the chair and walking briskly from the room.

No one says anything to each and they all studiously avoid making eye contact as well. Zig ambles back into the room minutes later with a shifty, anxious and wary looking blonde. He leads her to an empty chair in the half-circle and she sits down carefully.

“Group, this is Elizabeth. Elizabeth, why don’t you say a few words about yourself.”

Beth looks like she’d rather swallow her own tongue [which, in this group, no one would bat an eye at], but when Zig gives her his big, eager eyes, she speaks.

“Um. I’m Liz. Hi.”

When she doesn’t offer anything else, Zig nods encouragingly and she shifts her eyes around looking for someone to clue her in.

“Tell us why you’re here,” Zig says.

“Well, ‘cause people think I’m crazy.” She’s eyeballing him like _he’s_ crazy and Jensen smirks at her expression.

“Liz, we don’t like to use that word here,” Zig admonishes. “It’s got a lot of baggage.”

She shrugs. “Whatever.”

“Why don’t you tell us what happened? What brought you here?”

She looks around at the group again. Lexie is compulsive scratching at her neck in the same spot. She gets eczema from applying hand sanitizer like lotion. Steve is trying to unobtrusively scooch his chair back. Jodie lights up. The anorexics look bored. Phoebe is running her long pinky nail over a spot in her arm, making an impressive scratch and Tom…

Tom has fully checked out. He’s zoned out in the corner, not even blinking. They got him on a new med combo and it’s either working out great because he’s calm or working out horribly because he’s comatose.

Liz shifts in her seat. “Well, I guess this is like introducing yourself in jail, isn’t it? Everyone wants to know what you’re in for but then no body’s gonna believe me when I say I didn’t do it.”

That gets Liz a few dry chuckles from the group. She hit the nail right on the head with that one.

Liz sighs and then blurts out, “I’m here because I shot my boyfriend.”

 _Mental note, don’t get on Liz’s bad side,_ Jensen thinks.

“Why did you shoot him?” Zig prods gently.

Liz rolls her eyes and huffs. “Because he was a werewolf, okay?”

Jensen’s eyes snap over to Jared, who is sitting up straighter in his seat, suddenly intent on Liz.

“So, fine, call me crazy. But it was him or me and tomorrow’s a full moon. So I was on a deadline.” She pauses. “I do well with deadlines.” Another pause. “No pun intended.”

“Why did you think he was a werewolf?” Zig asks.

“I didn’t just think it, I knew it. He’d go away, for like, these guys nights out. Him and his friends. But then I realized that they were always at the same time.”

Zig waits for her to continue and then motions with his hands when she doesn’t. “And?”

Jensen leans forward in his chair, Jared mirroring his posture.

“And… Then I found this room. In his house. In the basement. And there was… stuff in there.” Liz tucks her hand under her thighs, sitting on them tensely.

“What kind of stuff?”

“Stuff, okay,” she exclaims. “Creepy, weird ass stuff and it was… I don’t wanna talk about it. But I knew what it meant. And then just… I mean, I always knew he was different, right? And I’ve got this thing, for the bad boys, which I’m probably fucking cured of now, thank you very much, not that it does me any good in here. And at first it was… like… kind of sexy and… you know? But that room… And he found out I knew. He knew I knew and that was it. It was him or me and I picked me and if that makes me crazy well… fine.”

“What happened when the authorities went to his house?”

She glares at Zig. “You know what happened.”

“They didn’t find the room did they?”

“His creepy friends are just like him,” she protests hotly. “I know they cleaned that shit up, I just _know_ it.” She purses her lips together. “And then they got me locked up in here and everyone thinks I’m crazy. But I’m not.”

“I told you, Liz, we don’t use that word here.”

Liz turns flat eyes on Zig. “Whatever.”

***

They don’t manage to talk to Liz until it’s almost time for Light’s Out. She’s sitting by herself in the TV lounge and eyes them warily as they approach her. Her eyes dart over the to the nurse’s station and then back to them and Sam realizes how it must look to her; two unknown men approaching her, intent expressions on their faces. He puts his best ‘sympathetic’ face on and he and Dean pull up two chairs next to her.

“Lay a fucking hand on me, and I’ll scream,” she says loudly, a fine tremble discernible in her voice.

Sam raises his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, we’re just here to talk. That’s it.”

Her eyes shift to the nurses station and she catches the eyes of one of nurses who smiles at her. Sam looks over his shoulder and tosses a wave at the nurse, Nan, before turning back to Liz. Liz’s eyes go back and forth between Sam and Dean.

“We’re not gonna hurt you,” Sam says.

Her eyes flick to Dean.

“We just wanna talk,” replies Dean easily.

Sam eyeballs him for a moment. It’s been rough with Dean taking the meds and getting his head flipped around and while Dean agreed to be here tonight, to talk to Liz, he still insists Sam call him Jensen. It’s been a fine line to walk - staying focused on getting Dean to remember who he is, who they are together, without alienating him and pushing him away. It’s a relief to see Dean, elbows on his knees, face intent and thoughtful as he stares at Liz. His hunting face.

He’d been afraid he wouldn’t see it again.

Liz crosses her arms over her chest and hunches in on herself. “What do you want?”

“We want to talk to you about what you said. At group today,” says Sam. “About your boyfriend.”

“Is this some kind of weird ‘haze the new girl’ thing, because I’ll pass, thanks.”

“We believe you,” Sam says earnestly, eyes focused on her. “About your boyfriend being a werewolf. We believe you.”

“Yeah,” she says dryly. “Well, forgive me if I don’t get up and do a dance. I mean, we’re all sitting here in the nut house.”

“We’re not crazy,” Sam says quickly.

Again her eyes flick back and forth between the two of them. “Yeah. Whatever.”

“What did you see?” asks Dean. “In that room. What did you see?”

She stiffens. “I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“You can tell us,” Sam says lowly. “It’s okay.”

She stands up suddenly. “Look, I’m not interested in making friends here or whatever.” She starts to walk away when Dean’s voice stops her.

“Where did you shoot him?”

She turns back around. “Pardon me?” she asks incredulously.

“Your boyfriend. Did you shoot him in the heart?”

She flinches. “I don’t know. I shot… it was… in the chest,” she answers shakily. Her face has gone ashen, her fingers twitching even as her arms remain crossed over her chest.

“What did you use? Did you have silver bullets?” Dean prods.

“What?” She shakes her head. “No, I… where would I get those?”

“If you didn’t shoot him in the heart with silver, he’s not dead.”

She’s shaking her head at them, backing away slowly. Sam stands and starts to go after her.

“We can help you. Just tell us what happened. Where are you from?”

“No… I… there was blood. There was a lot of blood. And he… he looked at me,” she stumbles a bit as she walks backward, catching her balance. Her lips are trembling. “He… he stopped breathing and I… I stood there and there was so much blood…”

“But you didn’t use silver, did you?” asks Sam, trying his best to look safe and sympathetic. “If you didn’t get the heart with silver, he’s not dead. You need to tell us everything so we can help you.”

She wordlessly shakes her head and then turns and flees towards the women’s ward. Sam makes a motion to go after her but Nan steps in front of him, hand on his chest.

“Honey you know you’re not allowed down there,” she says in her slow Texan drawl.

“Yeah, but-”

She gives him a gentle shove. “You can talk to Liz tomorrow, after your session. You know the rules.”

Sam’s arms fall by his side in defeat and he huffs.

Nan turns him around and gives him a pat on the back. “Now shoo.”

Sam sits back down next to Dean and gives him an appraising look.

“That went well,” Dean says lowly, his voice taking on some of Nan’s drawl.

“We gotta find out where she’s from. What her last name is, what her boyfriend’s name is… something to help us track him down.”

Dean’s face goes thoughtful for a moment and he opens his mouth like he’s going to speak but then shuts it quickly.

“What?” Sam asks. He knows Dean’s not 100% right now, but something’s better than nothing.

“We could… I mean, this places has got records, right? We could try and find hers.”

Sam nods. “Yeah. Shouldn’t be too hard to bust out of our rooms.” He scoots his chair closer to Dean and they start planning.

***

He has no idea what he’s doing.

Yesterday he was taking his meds, talking with Dr. Reid and it all made perfect sense.

He wasn’t some kind of strange supernatural bounty killer. He was just Jensen. A guy with a couple of screws loose on his way to getting them tightened back up.

And now he’s creeping through the corridors with Sam - Jared - whatever his name is - on his way to try and bust into patient records.

It feels like a crazy thing to do. It feels scary and strange. He’s not sure what he’ll do next, what _they’ll_ do next.

Getting out of their rooms wasn’t particularly hard. The night security has a schedule. All you have to do is wait for the break in the walkabouts, and you can wander where you like.

The trick will be getting back before next check in. Jared told him to fluff up some pillows and towels and make it look like there was a body still in the bed, on the off chance they don’t make it back and Jensen did that. He’s just not sure it will pass a close inspection. In fact, he’s kinda sure it won’t.

If this really is his life, shouldn’t he be better at it? Shouldn’t he not feel nervous because he does this all the time? Shouldn’t it be second nature?

Jared - Sam - says it’s the drugs. He says that if he stops taking them, things will clear up, settle themselves out.

Dr. Reid says the same things will happen if he continues to take the meds. His memory will clear, he’ll find it easier to tell reality from delusion. He shakes his head. He can’t think about it right now. He spies Jared crouching behind the secondary nurses station and makes his way over. It’s empty. During the night shift only the main station is staffed, leaving the second one barren - a good place to meet up.

Jared nods in acknowledgment of his arrival and Jensen hunkers down next to him.

“Wasn’t sure you’d make it,” Jared whispers lowly.

“Well, in for a penny…”

Jared gives a quick grin and claps him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

They crouch-walk down the hall, staying low, although Jensen’s not sure why. There are no cameras in the hallways and the large reflective dishes at the corners give them ample warning if someone starts heading toward them. They’re nearly at patient records when they hear voices. Jared holds up a hand to stop them and they creep closer down the darkly lit hall. They stop outside Dr. Reid’s private office. She doesn’t have sessions in there, it’s where she keeps her files, notes. An adjunct to her larger office where she has sessions, her private one just has a small desk and a few filing cabinets. Jensen’s seen the inside of it when she slides open the adjoining door to enter into session. He catches the tail end of Dr. Reid’s sentence.

“… can’t believe you introduced that patient. She should have gone into an entirely different group.”

“Look, Hil, if you’re doing your job, it shouldn’t matter.”

 _Zig_ , Jensen thinks. His voice has taken on an almost smarmy tone. He doesn’t see Drs. Reid and Zagarodniuk interact much. He kind of gets the impression they don’t get along.

“Jesus, I can’t believe he lets you stay. This isn’t a pissing contest, Mike. You know what we’re dealing with here and you brought in a girl who says her boyfriend was a werewolf.”

Jensen catches Jared’s eye. They stare unblinkingly at each other while they listen to the argument.

“As I said, if you’re doing your job, it shouldn’t matter.”

“I’m making progress with them.”

“Bullshit. You should have seen their faces light up when she started talking.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Dr. Reid exclaimed. “You’ve completely undone any ground I’ve gained.”

“Gain it back,” comes the dry, uninterested response from Zig. “If you can’t, then maybe it needs to be turned over to someone else.”

An exasperated, choked off sound comes from Dr. Reid. “Get out of my office, Mike. Fuck with my work again, and I’ll have you removed. Permanently.”

There’s the sound of fabric rustling and Jensen’s heart thumps in his ears as they hurriedly creep back the way they came toward the nurse’s station. Crouching behind the desk, they hear Zig trundle down the hallway, muttering to himself. Jensen tucks himself under the desk and Jared slides in close beside him. Jensen can feel the warmth coming off Jared’s body and even though he knows it’s completely inappropriate and it’s neither the time nor the place for it, the adrenaline charging through his system makes his heart pound faster and he leans into Jared’s neck and breathes in deeply through his nose.

Jared twitches lightly beside him, his hand coming up to cup the back of Jensen’s neck, hot and solid. Jared buries his nose in the top of Jensen’s head, inhaling the scent there too. Jensen gets that same thrill of _wrong_ that hit him in the supply closet but it only makes his heart beat faster. Trailing in its wake is the added pulse that they could be caught, tucked in under the desk as they are.

Jared shifts, stretching his legs out underneath the desk and Jensen turns and slides so that he’s cradled between Jared’s thighs, their pelvis tucked together. Jared’s leaning back against the wall at an awkward angle; there’s not nearly enough space under the desk for him. He pulls Jensen onto him, tipping Jensen’s head back so he can catch his lips in a kiss.

Jensen feels the press of Jared’s hot tongue against the seam of his lips, licking at the entrance. When he finally parts his lips, Jared’s tongue slips in immediately, mapping the inside of his mouth. It’s cramped and uncomfortable, and he starts rutting against Jared’s leg, sliding his hand underneath the stiff, industrial cotton of Jared’s shirt. He traces the lines of Jared’s chest, loving the feeling of soft skin stretched over tight muscles. Jared slithers one of his big hands into the back of Jensen’s pants, pushing past the waistband and gripping his ass tightly, pressing them closer together.

Jensen tilts his head to get a better angle at Jared’s mouth, his tongue darting out quickly against Jared’s before he pulls back slightly to mouth at Jared’s jaw. The stubble is sharp against his tongue, making a rasping sound as he nips at it. Jensen tries to move up onto his knees, shifting to get a hand down Jared’s pants and he cracks his elbow hard against the underside of the desk, the resulting thwack echoing around them, making them pause. Lips millimeters apart, panting into each other’s mouths while they wait for any sign that they’ve been heard. Jensen’s on all fours, his head turned slightly to the side to listen. Jared’s tongue sneaks out and darts into his ear, wet and slippery and Jensen nearly giggles at the ridiculousness of it. He turns his head to find Jared’s eyes gleaming with mischief at him. He slides his hand into Jared’s pants and the mischief fades replaced by lust as Jensen wraps his fist around Jared’s cock and starts stroking. Jared gets his own hand down Jensen’s pants and they jerk each other off slowly, matching strokes, trading squeezes, staring at each other, trapped under the desk.

It’s quiet and cramped and slow until Jared comes suddenly, without warning, hot and sticky into Jensen’s fist. The smell of it, of them and the look on Jared’s face pushes Jensen over the edge and he turns his face into Jared’s neck and comes, breathing in the salty male scent of Jared.

He drifts drowsily, he’s not sure for how long, but when he focuses again, he’s sprawled in Jared’s lap, Jared carding fingers through his hair.

“That better be your clean hand, bitch.”

Jared’s laughter is low and rumbly and Jensen can feel it through his chest.

“Jerk.”

***

Waiting for his private session to start, Jensen’s fucking confused.

If he’s Jensen, then he’s really messed up. He’s created this whole other life for himself, a life that includes monsters, angels, demons and hunting. A life where he’s a killer and fucking his own brother. How much must he want to escape his own life if Dean’s life is preferable?

But if he’s not Jensen, if he’s Dean, he’s even more messed up. His whole life is spent dealing with monsters, angels, demons and hunting. He’s a killer and he’s fucking his own brother.

At least if he’s Jensen, then he and Jared aren’t related and the fucking each other thing isn’t so bad.

It makes him feel sick with guilt when he thinks of them as brothers.

But it makes him feel sick with something else when he thinks of them not being related.

He was feeling better on the meds. At least, he thought he was. He didn’t take them yesterday and he didn’t take them today and things are disjointed and twitchy. Like a strobe light playing in his brain, only letting his neurons engage for brief moments before shutting down again. Certain things do seem clearer now. Jared is clearer.

Not Jared. Sam.

And if Jared is Sam, that makes Jensen Dean.

But if they’re Sam and Dean, then they’re still fucked. Trapped in a mental institution with people trying to make them think they are Jensen and Jared.

Jesus his head hurts.

He looks up as Dr. Reid enters the room and she smiles warmly at him. He’s conflicted because he _likes_ Dr. Reid. She makes sense. She’s kind and she listens. He feels better when she’s around and they can talk things through.

But is that part of the deception?

Or is it that she’s a good doctor?

“Jensen,” she says as she folds herself into the beanbag chair. “How are you feeling today?”

“Fine. Good.”

“How are you doing on the meds?”

“Um. Okay.” He waves his hand in a general kind of way and is horrified when he notices it shaking a bit.

She eyes him for a minute and he shifts his eyes away from her gaze. “All right,” she says finally. “Anything you want to talk about today?”

“Why don’t you separate us? Me and Sam, I mean, Jared.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them and he’s horrified that he blurted it out like that.

She nods sagely. “It’s a good question.” She pauses and it seems like she’s gathering her thoughts. “I’ll be honest with you, Jensen, it’s been a tough decision. You and Jared have a shared delusion and you can both be debilitating to the other’s recovery. But you could also both be instrumental as well. If I can lead one of you out of the delusion, the other may follow. Conversely, if one of you choses to remain firmly entrenched in the delusion, he can bring the other back down repeatedly.

“It’s something I’ve struggled with and I’ve sought advice from other colleagues about it. In the end, I thought it would detrimental to your emotional stability to separate the two of you. I think that separating you would increase your paranoia. Your worry and distress over where he was and what was happening to him could stall your recovery. I think you’ve noticed over the past few days that while you have been responding to treatment, Jared has not. It’s my hope that you, being the stronger of the two, can be the leader and pull him up to your recovery level. At the same time, his reluctance to leave the delusion is a sort of proving ground for you. When you leave Lofty Pines, there will be times in your life, situations that are difficult or stressful and you may find yourself starting to slip. But knowing you were able to maintain your reality under the most trying circumstances here at Lofty Pines will give you the confidence to continue on after you’ve left.”

Jesus, it makes so much _sense_ when she talks. It’s calm and concise. There are no beasts under the bed, no prophecies nor omens. They way she talks about him being the stronger of the two, the leader, resonates with him. He could be the one that gets them out of this.

“Jensen,” she says. “I feel like we’re at a crossroads here. I real turning point in your recovery and there are some… truths that you need to face. I think we can do that together.”

He’s nervous, stomach fluttering and feeling a little sick and he’s not sure why. “Okay,” he says, voice wavering slightly. “Like what?”

“I want to talk about the stressor in your life that led to your psychotic break. The event that brought you here, to Lofty Pines.”

He stills. “I don’t remember anything. I don’t… there’s nothing before I was here.” He rubs at his forehead.

“Nothing?” she says softly. She leans forward slightly. “You’re rubbing your forehead, why?”

He stops as soon as he realizes he’s doing it. “I don’t…”

“Jensen, when we were going through Dean Winchester’s history, you told me there had been a car accident. Do you remember?”

A cold sweat breaks out over his upper lip. He doesn’t like thinking about the accident. The accident leads to thoughts of being dead and reapers. Of Sam and Dad fighting. Of Dad making his deal, his deal for Dean, to keep Dean alive in exchange for himself.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I think it’s important,” she presses softly. “I think that Dean carries a lot of guilt over the death of his father, John.”

“Dean’s not real,” he says automatically. The room is swaying slightly. It must be withdrawal from the meds. He’s breathing faster, there’s not enough oxygen in the room.

“No, Dean’s not real. You made him up. Built him out of pieces of yourself. Made him things that you are and things you aren’t. Made him do things you don’t want to do, things you can’t do. Gave him a life with no attachments to anyone, except his brother Sam. There’s no one else in Dean’s life, is there?”

He grips at his knees, knuckles white, fingers pushing into flesh. “Why are we talking about this?”

“Tell me about the accident, Jensen.”

Her voice is low, even. Hypnotic. He rubs at his forehead again and can almost feel a scar under his fingertips. The breaking of glass, the screech of metal on metal. The shrieking of a vehicle giving under pressure. And guilt. Jesus, the guilt. Like a sick, heavy weight, running down his esophagus and settling in his stomach, twisting and curling with thick fingers.

“There was an accident,” he breathes.

“Yes. There was.”

“I was in an accident.” His voice barely registers.

Breaking of glass, screech of metal on metal, and… then silence. And darkness. Nothingness. Except guilt. Horrible, viscous, slippery guilt sliding it’s way into his chest.

“I don’t remember.” He wants to get out, he has to get _out_ , he can’t breath here, he can’t be here like this.

Dr. Reid is kneeling in front of him, her hands on his knees, careful yet firm. “Okay, it’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” She rubs his knee soothingly, like a mother would and it feels warm and real.

“I don’t remember,” he repeats.

“Okay. That’s okay. We’ll talk about something else.”

He nods dumbly at her words, not really caring what she’s saying, only that she’s using her low, quiet voice, and she keeps rubbing his knee.

***

Sam steels himself for his session with Dr. Reid.

No matter what she says this time, he’s not going to lose his cool. His name is Sam, his brother is Dean, and she can’t twist it all around and make it something it’s not.

Sure, he’s fucked up. Isn’t everyone? He saw more neuroses and phobias at Stanford than he knew existed in the world. Everyone’s a little fucked up, in some way or another. And the people who can’t admit it to themselves are the sorry sons of bitches he feels for.

He knows that what he feels for Dean, what they feel for each other, isn’t healthy. God knows, he knows it. But their life was like this huge centrifuge, distilling and separating everything and everyone out until it was just the two of them. Only Dean knows the things he knows. Only Dean understands the things he’s seen, the things he’s done. Dean knows what it’s like to kill a demon knowing that you’re killing the human as well. Dean knows how hard it is to get blood out of clothes and how it never really comes off your hands. Dean was there the night Jess… god, he still can’t even talk about it. But he doesn’t have to, because Dean _knows_.

So yeah, what they feel for each other isn’t considered ‘normal’ by society, but that’s the same society that they save from the abnormal on a daily basis, so he can’t really fault them for thinking inside the box. He and Dean spend their whole lives making sure the populace can live safely inside their little box.

“Jared,” Dr. Reid says as she slides the door open from her smaller office.

“It’s Sam,” he says calmly.

Her eyes tighten slightly. “Sam,” she repeats. “I guess that means you’re still not taking your meds.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares back at her as she settles down into the beanbag chair.

“Did you have a chance to think about what I said last time? Is Sam Winchester’s life a happy one?”

He gives her a somewhat feral smile. “Doesn’t matter if it is or not. It’s all I’ve got.”

She nods as if she’s thinking about it. “Well, I think we should do what we can to make Sam’s life better then.”

“Really,” Sam says, humoring her. “How?”

“If you believe you’re Sam, let’s explore Sam’s issues. You’re very intelligent. Went to Stanford, correct?”

He narrows his eyes. “Yeah, pre-law.”

“Intelligent, as I said. Surely you can see that you have issues to work through.”

“Like what?” he says, tensing. He won’t discuss Dean. Absolutely not.

“Let’s discuss your Madonna/Whore complex.”

“What?”

“Your mother, died tragically and in some ways has become the Madonna of your family. Perfect, pure. You recreate her in Jess, your girlfriend at Stanford. Blonde, beautiful - yet she too dies tragically. Sarah, who you can’t be with because of your lifestyle also fits this mold - unattainable, beautiful. Then Meg, a demon. You move on to Madison, who turns out to be a beast you have to kill. Ellen, your surrogate mother, dies along with Jo, a sort of sister, who also follows the blonde, beautiful and dead motif Then Ruby, another demon and Anna, an angel.” She raises an eyebrow at him and he shifts uncomfortably under her gaze. “You could not be more clear in your conflict than you are with those two sharing an… arc in your life, so to speak. Especially since Dean had an… encounter with Anna, while you were in a relationship with Ruby. Women in your life fall into two categories. Category one: beloved, at times cherished and predominately dead. Category two: monstrous, evil and in need of being controlled or killed.”

He huffs. “It’s not like that.”

“Really? Name one women in your life who isn’t unattainable, dead, demonized, or disposable.”

His brain stutters and he opens and closes his mouth.

“Don’t you find that odd? What is the probability of that happening consistently?”

He clenches his jaw. “Just because it’s unlikely doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”

She considers his words. “No, you’re correct. It’s not impossible. But it certainly indicates a pattern.”

It hits him suddenly. The best defense is a good offense. “Yeah?” he counters. “So which are you?”

She squints slightly. “I’m sorry?”

“Since I’m Sam and you’re a woman in my life, you have to fall into one of the two categories. Either you’ll end up cherished and dead, or demonized… and dead.”

She leans back in her beanbag and crosses her arms, contemplating. “Touché.”

“Either way, it doesn’t look good for you.”

She levels him with a stare, her eyes flat and cool. “Sam, do we have to put you back in security?”

“You maintain I’m not Sam, so you should be safe.” This time it’s his turn to pause, let her think about his words. “But if you’re…” _lying_ “wrong, and I _am_ Sam…” he shrugs. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“I suppose so.” She looks down at her notes again, her bobbed hair swaying slightly. “Tell me, what about your escape to Stanford and your desire for a normal life?”

He shrugs. “What about it?”

“Do you still feel that way at times? Like you want to leave your life of hunting?”

“No.”

“No? What changed?”

 _Jess, Dean, YED, Dad…._. He shrugs. “I guess I just realized that this was something I needed to do.”

“What about your brother?”

He stiffens. “What about him?”

“If this is something you’re meant to do, that both of you are meant for, then how is it that he’s responded to treatment here?”

Sam shakes his head. “He hasn’t responded. It’s the drugs. You’ve got him drugged out of his mind. Without them, he knows who he is.”

“If that were true, why did he take the drugs in the first place?” Her face is open, eyes unblinking.

He hates her calm expression. Her perfect bob and her stupid flat shoes.

“What?” he asks.

She gestures with her hands while she talks. “If he’s completely in his right mind when he’s not taking the drugs, then why did he start taking the meds in the first place? We didn’t force them on him or you. In fact, even now, we don’t force your meds on you. We don’t inject you, we don’t pour pills down your throat. Taking your meds is your choice.”

Sam has no answer for that. He doesn’t know why Dean started taking the pills.

“Could it be because some part of him recognized he was ill and needed help? That he wanted out?”

Sam fists his hands. “No.”

“Why?”

“I know who I am, I know who we are. I’m Sam Winchester and he’s my brother.”

She nods thoughtfully, the silence stretching out between them.

“Well then, Sam,” she says. “How do you account for the incestuous relationship you have with your brother?”

He feels his stomach clench up and seize. “What?”

“Your relationship with Dean and its incestuous component. Let’s discuss that.”

“I’m not… We’re not…” he stammers out, chest rising and falling quickly.

“Sam,” she says, tilting her head toward him sympathetically. “This is a secured facility. There are cameras all over this building. There’s hardly a moment you’re really ever alone. For security purposes, we have to monitor the patients at all times.”

“But I’m not… he’s not…”

“He’s not what?”

“It’s not like that.”

She folds her hands, interlacing her fingers together. “It’s not like what?”

He can’t say the word. _Incest_. The word is wrong, bad. It doesn’t apply to how he feels about Dean, how they feel about each other. It can’t be wrong. They love each other.

They’re all they have.

He won’t use that word to describe it. That word is laden with connotations and implications. Wrong, terrible, dirty things and it’s not like that with him and Dean.

He shakes his head. “It’s not like that,” he repeats firmly.

“You tell me you’re Sam and he’s Dean, your brother. And the two of you are sexually involved.” She levels him with her soft gaze. “I’m afraid it’s very much like that.”

***

Jared doesn’t talk to him after his therapy session, which is somewhat new and different. Usually, Jared seeks him out, making dismissive statements about whatever he and Dr. Reid discussed and trying his best to disprove Jensen’s therapy as well. But today, Jared disappears after his session and heads to his room, leaving Jensen in the common room by himself watching the back of Jared as he walks down the hall.

Jensen’s still watching the hallway long after he’s gone until he becomes aware of a presence standing by his side. He looks up from the recliner he’s sunk into and finds Liz standing over him, biting at one of her cuticles and shifting on her feet. He gives her an expectant expression.

“Look, I’m not crazy,” she blurts without any preamble.

“Okay,” he shrugs.

Her eyes dart around like a heroine in a bad spy flick and then she slips her hand into her pocket and pulls out a piece of folded paper that she holds out to him.

He stares at it for a second and she rolls her eyes and shoves it at him. He takes it with deft fingers, unfolding it.

 _Trevor MacIlway, 42 Dowinigan Road_

“What’s this?” he asks gesturing with the paper.

She’s back to chewing on her thumb cuticle and has to pull her finger out of her mouth long enough to answer.

“That’s him, my boyfriend. Well, I guess he’s my ex now. Even if he’s not really dead, we’re still broken up.”

Jensen gives her a look that clearly indicates he does think she’s crazy.

She makes a huffing sound and rolls her eyes again. “Can you do something about it or not? ‘Cause if he’s not dead… I mean, everyone knows where I am, right? And if someone shot me I’d be pissed and I’m not even… you know…” she makes a clawing motion with both her hands toward Jensen, mimicking a werewolf and he flinches slightly. “So, you and your… friend?”

“Brother,” he says without thinking.”

She blinks. “Oh.”

“What?”

She shrugs. “Nothing. Just weird, that’s all. Anyway, you and your brother, can you help me?”

 _Saving people, hunting things. The family business._

He stares down at the somewhat crumpled note, worrying the paper between his fingers. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Liz shifting on her feet, a slightly nervous jitter to her moves. He looks down the corridor where Jared’s room is and wishes he was here right now. He looks back up at Liz. Her expression is an amalgamation of emotions. Hope, nervousness, wariness, expectation and a touch of fear. He opens his mouth to tell her no, he can’t help her, they can’t help her. She’s on her own.

He finds he can’t bear to say the words.

“Yeah. We can help.”

Her shoulders, formerly hunched up around her ears, sag in relief and she lets out a long breath.

“Okay,” she breathes and then nods to herself. “Uh, thanks.”

With a last, furtive glance around, she shuffles away from him, the soles of her slippers making a swish-thwock sound on the linoleum as she goes. Jensen pushes himself out of his chair and moves as nonchalantly as he can out of the common room and heads toward Jared’s room.

Sam’s room.

His step has a hitch mid-stride as he considers that. If he’s going to do this, if they’re going to do this, then he’s no longer Jared, he’s Sam.

And Jensen is Dean.

He pauses when he reaches the outside of Sam’s door, hand poised and ready to knock. He’s not sure why he’s nervous.

He raps his knuckles down three times.

“Yeah?”

He pushes his way into the room, holding up the piece of paper from Liz. Sam frowns as he sees it.

“Liz gave us the contact information on her boyfriend.”

He sees realization dawn across Sam’s face. It makes him smile.

“What say, we bust out of this joint and hunt some monsters, Sam?”

***

He knew who was knocking at his door before it opened and he saw him there.

Dean.

Jensen.

He’s not sure what to call him.

He holds up a piece of paper and waves it around a bit, and the gesture is so cocksure and slick that it makes Sam’s heart thump.

“Liz gave us the contact information on her boyfriend.”

Sam’s chest tightens and then releases. He sees the look in Dean’s eyes. _Dean_. Slightly flirty, confident and a little dangerous. They can leave here, escape.

Together.

They can do anything, fight anything, _believe_ anything as long as they’re together.

“What say, we bust out of this joint and kill some monsters, Sam?”

 _Sam_.

Sam stands up and steps toward Dean, standing close, in his space. He clasps Dean on the arms, fingers pressing into the flesh.

“I’m Sam, and you’re Dean.”

Dean grins at him. “Yeah, Sammy. ‘Course we are.”

He can hear the fine hesitation in Dean’s voice. The slight tremor. He’s not sure. Not 100%.

Then again, neither is Sam.

Sam takes a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s go kill some monsters.”


End file.
